


one step closer

by huphilpuffs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2010, 2012, 2014, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Chronological, gay marriage legalization, slight internalized biphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huphilpuffs/pseuds/huphilpuffs
Summary: There’s a bill to legalize gay marriage in parliament and Dan wants forever with Phil.





	one step closer

**Author's Note:**

> written for the phandom fic fest spring/new beginnings. thank you to aisling (@srsbssns on tumblr) for being lovely and beta'ing this for me.

There was a time in 2010 when feelings were bubbly and fresh in Dan’s chest and sleeplessness was making his brain go hazy that he’d smiled at his laptop screen and said:

“I want to marry you one day.”

He’d been curled up with his pillow and his duvet pulled up to his knees and bear nestled under his chin, staring at a pixelated image on his laptop screen. And Phil had been staring back at him, laying down on his stomach with his fringe covering his eyes and a crooked smile on his face.

“You do?” he’d asked.

Dan had hummed, squeezed his bear tighter and pretended it was Phil. Around him laced the phantom comfort of his boyfriend’s arms as snow fell outside his window into the darkness of night. He nodded his head and closed his eyes and pictured it in the same glowy brilliance of a dream.

“Yeah,” he’d said. “I really do.”

And though it was nighttime and reality seemed distant, he watched as Phil’s smile faltered into something twisted and anxious. As he plucked at the bright colours that covered his bed and disguised the blue of his eyes behind somber thoughts.

“But we can’t. It’s not- We can’t.”

Dan, undeterred and dreamy, had just squeezed his bear even tighter, offered Phil a smile that was usually reserved for confessions and feelings and tingling warmth zipping along his spine.

“One day,” he’d said, “we’ll be able to.”

\---

“There’s a bill.”

He was sitting in their lounge, phone in one hand and coffee in the other, on a different winter day. Gone were the beige walls of his childhood bedroom, turned into the clean white ones a home of his own. There were nerdy posters on the walls and shelves covered in memories, a fireplace with no flames, and a TV he wasn’t listening to.

Phil had just sat down beside him, still ruffled with sleep, clinging to his mug with both hands.

“Huh?”

“There’s a bill. Parliament announced it today.”

Phil stared at him then, the kind with furrowed brows and a twisted frown that he got when he knew Dan was trying to tell him something but couldn’t quite piece together what. A picture of Mickey Mouse peaked from between his fingers and his hair was still half in a quiff and the abhorrently bright fabric of his pyjama pants nearly glowed in the sunlight.

Dan smiled, set his phone down.

“To legalize gay marriage,” he explained.

Phil’s eyes went wide then, matched his open-mouthed smile. “Oh.”

They were sitting in their living room mid-morning, with noon creeping up on them just as grins swept across their faces. Dan reached over, set his mug on the coffee table in front of him. His hand settled on Phil’s thigh and his lips pressed to Phil’s smile.

He tasted like coffee.

“Yeah,” he said, and chuckled. “Oh.”

\---

They’d moved in together in the summer, on a day when it wasn’t too hot and lugging furniture around their little flat had them collapsing onto furniture with heaving chests.

“We need to get more fit,” Phil had said.

Their sofa had been crooked and both bedrooms had a mattress without a bed frame. The cupboards were empty and boxes and bags littered the floor. They’d settled onto the sofa together, smiles on their faces and sweat on their brows.

“We need a shower,” Dan had said, because that seemed notably more attainable.

They didn’t move though, just sat there. Sun filtered through large windows, and furniture left by the previous tenants gleamed on the balcony. And though his shirt was sticking to his back and Phil’s fringe was flattened against his forehead, Dan found himself moving closer, pressing their sides together.

Phil reached for his hand, squeezed his fingers.

“Thanks for asking me to live with you,” Dan had said.

Phil had laughed, leaned over to press a kiss to his head. “As though I’d ask anyone else.”

“I don’t know. I heard Robert Pattinson was in the running.”

They’d laughed, shoulders pressed together and smiles mirroring each other. And kissed, the clumsy cheesy kind that punctuated giggles and warmed the happiness flooding Dan’s chest.

In the days that came afterwards, they’d fought and bickered and ignored each other, wallowed the lack of internet and their poor organization skills. They’d stayed up too late and cooked together and had sex in a home where there were no parents or roommates to walk in on them.

But in that moment, Phil had cradled Dan’s cheek, pressed another kiss to his lips. “Nah,” he’d said, still giggling in that way that had his tongue sticking out from between his teeth. He’d gripped one of Dan’s hips and held him close and pressed his nose to Dan’s neck. “Wanna be with you forever.”

Dan had wrapped his arms around Phil’s middle, held him just as close.

“Me too.”

\---

The bill got through the House of Commons.

Dan heard about it on Twitter, read through the news with tears burning behind his eyes. Nestled between sofa cushions with a throw pillow hugged to his chest and his boyfriend sitting nearby, toes pressed under the curve of Dan’s thigh.

It was a lazy day in May, the sun shining outside and the same shows they watched all the time playing on TV.

He reached down, squeezed Phil’s ankle to get his attention, and tossed his phone across the sofa. Almost as though he was sharing a picture of a cute dog or a video of a sloth that he knew would make Phil’s eyes light up to match the joy that would spread across his face.

And he watched. The back and forth flicker of Phil’s eyes. The swipe of his thumb across the screen. The slow flicker of recognition across his face.

Phil didn’t know as much about the legal process as Dan did, hadn’t dedicated far too many hours to sitting in lectures or reading textbooks about proceedings he’d never cared about. But he understood that.

“One step closer,” he said.

Dan squeezed his ankle again, reached forward to take his phone back. But Phil caught his fingers, drew them to his lips so he could brush kisses to Dan’s knuckles.

“That’s one step closer, right?”

It wasn’t time to celebrate, yet. There was still the House of Lords and the Queen and people who protested the Bill’s mere existence and others who had far more power than Dan did in the matter. But he squeezed Phil’s hand, and nodded, and smiled.

“One step closer.”

\---

“I don’t always get the big deal,” Phil had said once.

It had been a summer day with chilly air and news breaking on the TV about how Denmark’s Parliament had legalized gay marriage. They’d sat there on their laptops, staring at different screens while news reporters bellowed in the room about celebrations that were to occur. Phil’s fingers had been typing something and Dan had hit the spacebar to silence the video he’d been watching.

“Huh?”

“The marriage thing,” Phil had said. “I don’t always get it.”

Dan had tugged on the cord of his earbuds until they fell onto his lap. “What’s not to get?” he’d asked. “People want to get married, but can’t. And these laws make it so they can.”

Phil had nodded. But he’d closed his laptop in a way that had Dan swallowing thickly, had set it aside as though an actual discussion needed to occur.

Dan hadn’t been the best at having discussions that year.

“But it’s just a piece of paper,” he’d said. “We can already get one of those. Here, at least, we can.”

Dan had set his own laptop aside at the words, swallowed past the burst of anger in his chest. Phil was staring at him with eyes genuine and curious, and trying to understand was never Dan’s strong suit but he could _try_. So he pushed himself forward, pressed his knees to Phil’s thigh, reached for his hand.

“A civil partnership?” he’d asked, and Phil had nodded. “But that’s not the same.”

Phil had shrugged, squeezed Dan’s hand. “What makes it so different, though?”

It had taken a moment for Dan to respond, to scramble past the urge to raise his voice and find words that made sense. Phil was still holding his hand and looking up at him and if it were anyone else Dan knew he would be yelling. But it had been Phil.

The Phil that Dan had Skyped over late nights with cracking voices and swollen hearts.

The Phil that had pushed Dan to be the absolute best he could be.

The Phil that had talked Dan through his sexuality crisis with soft words of encouragement and love shining bright in his eyes.

A notably non-homophobic Phil.

“The principle, I guess,” Dan had said. “Giving same-sex couples that was like a consolation prize. Like ‘here you can have this but marriage is still for us, valid couples.’ I guess.”

Phil had nodded, pressed a kiss to Dan’s shoulder. He’d developed that habit over time, a quiet comfort in upsetting conversations. That year had been filled with those, to adjust to and to learn from.

“I guess I just don’t see a civil partnership as all that inferior,” he’d whispered. “They’re both pieces of paper. And one’s a piece of paper for straight couples and one’s a piece of paper for gay couples.” He’d paused, squeezed Dan’s hand again, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’m kind of biased towards same-sex couples, you know?”

Dan has smiled then, too, past the pain that still lingered in his chest and the voices in his head telling him to argue. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Phil’s lips.

“Makes sense,” he’d breathed, letting his head fall to rest against Phil’s. “I think it’s just that, you know, it was made with the intention of being inferior. Of keeping us separate. People don’t want to be separate.”

Phil had nodded, wedged awkwardly against Dan’s ribs. And then he’d pulled away, raised a hand to pull Dan into him instead. To hold him close and let his fingers drift along Dan’s arm and breathe in the measured way they’d learned in the height of their frustration.

They’d still been holding hands, and Phil had held onto his tighter when he spoke again.

“I just think there’s more important things,” he’d said. “I’d take the wrong piece of paper any day if it meant we didn’t have to be scared of our careers ending because–”

Dan’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded before Phil could say it. “I know.”

\---

The Bill got through the House of Lords.

It was the middle of summer and they had bigger things to consider. There were deflated balloons in random corners of their flat and a single piece left of Phil’s  _congratulations on one million subscribers_  cake left in the fridge. Phil was in the midst of trying to ensure his celebration video was perfect. Dan was pouring over a script for a video he wasn’t quite sure he liked.

The air was hot and his shirt clung to his skin and the news broke in a flurry of celebrations.

There was one step left, but the reality of how close it was settled on Dan’s shoulders. Phil had taken off his headphones and Dan had closed his document and they were both listening to a reporter explain the legal nuances no one really cared about. Listened to her explain that people were already celebrating.

The Queen was expected to sign the bill shortly. It was probably going to pass.

It was going to pass.

Dan’s hair was curly from the humidity and stuck to his forehead. Phil’s cheeks were rosy because of the heat. The woman on TV was still rambling little details about lawmakers.

Phil reached across the sofa, took Dan’s hand in his, and squeezed.

They still hadn’t taken down the streamers that hung in the lounge, and there was a brilliant smile on both their faces.

\---

It hadn’t come up again.

They’d kept working on videos like normal. Complaining about summer and plucking at each other’s clothing and sleeping over the duvet. They watched TV and played video games and the news, the conversation, had faded from Dan’s memories for most of the time.

They’d gone to Vegas, celebrated Dan’s birthday with gambling and drinks, time with friends and nights having clumsy sex in hotel beds. They’d gone to a spa and teased each other about it, and Phil made a video. Joked about America and slept in each other’s arms and flew back to the UK with low energy and sleepy smiles.

Dan had almost forgotten about it, spare for late nights with taunting voices in his head would remind him. When he’d toss and turn and try to remind himself that he didn’t need to agree with Phil on everything.

Until the day, a little while after they’d gotten home, that Phil had rolled over in bed, hugged Dan to his chest, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he’d mumbled.

“For?”

“The gay marriage thing,” he’d said. “I know it upset you.”

Phil’s hand had trailed over Dan’s stomach, slipped beneath the fabric of his sleep shirt. He was holding on tighter than usual, his breath too choppy.

“You’re allowed your opinions, Phil.”

His fringed had tickled the back of Dan’s neck as he shook his head. “It made me think a lot.”

“And?”

There had been a pause. “And I think that when I accepted myself, part of that was accepting that I might never get married,” he’d said. “It wasn’t- It feels like so long ago now but it was barely a serious discussion back then.”

Dan had reached down, pressed his hand over Phil’s, squeezed his fingers.

“It was easier to think of it as just this piece of paper,” Phil had said, “than to think of it as something I wanted but couldn’t have, you know?”

Dan had nodded. “You’re right though, it is just a piece of paper.”

“An important one,” Phil had said. “A legal one. A symbolic one.”

The hum had rumbled in Dan’s throat, was punctuated with another squeeze of Phil’s hand. “It’s a piece of paper that promises forever,” he’d murmured.

Phil had sighed then, nestled himself even closer. His fingers had trailed lightly over Dan’s stomach, his breath warm against Dan’s neck. He hadn’t said a word for a long moment, just pressed a kiss to the top of Dan’s head and held him close and let the comfort and heat lull them to calmness.

Until Dan’s eyes had been closed and Phil had kissed him again, his shoulder that time, and said:

“I want forever with you.”

\---

The Bill got the Queen’s signature in days.

Dan stared at social media, watching the news break and celebrations erupt and realizing with a twist in his gut what it could mean for him. There were rainbows on his newsfeed and in the streets of England. Pictures on every website of happy people with wide smiles and every reason to celebrate.

Phil posted his one million subscribers video. There were still decorations lingering around the flat, painting it in shades of blue and green.

But the smiles on their faces weren’t for a video, a milestone that was starting to feel familiar.

They ordered pizza and got milkshakes and ate at the table on their rainbow of dining chairs. Phil reached over and took Dan’s hand in his, let his thumb drift along Dan’s knuckles.

“We can now,” he said.

Dan wondered if he remembered that pixelated Skype call from so long ago.

\---

They’d moved to London in the summer, when new possibilities gleamed, brilliant, over the horizon, and familiar boxes filled with new memories littered their flat.

There was barely any furniture and too much decor. They’d plugged in their gaming consoles as soon as possible, sat around and played games when they should have been unpacking. Giggled and kissed and planned ideas they couldn’t have made reality in their smaller Manchester apartment.

Dan had a bedroom that was monochrome and barely slept in.

Phil had a duvet that was blue and green and created a better filming set.

They’d bought chairs in many colours and hung up mirrors and filled kitchen cabinets with their collection of nerdy mugs.

They’d had a radio show.

Things had been tense online and Dan’s spine bristled with anger too often. Phil had spent too much time with guilt flitting across his features. But in the privacy of their apartment, they’d curled up together on a comfier sofa and watched their favourite shows and nothing, Dan had mused, was all that different.

Except the moment when Phil had pressed a kiss to his lips, glanced around at the messy mitch-match of decor they’d accumulated and unpacked.

He’d said: “It feels more like home, doesn’t it?” Paused, looked back at Dan. “Feels more like forever.”

\---

The first weddings happened in March.

Traces of winter had disappeared, and warmth had started to settle over London. Flowers were blooming in parks and breezes rustled leaves and the television was lit up with the image of the first same-sex couple to legally marry in England.

Dan cried, the kind of tears that stung and lingered and rolled slowly down your cheeks. That were met with an overwhelming sense of pride in his chest he couldn’t ignore.

Phil leaned over, draped an arm over Dan’s shoulders, and drew him close. He pressed a kiss to Dan’s forehead, and another to where tears left dampness on his cheeks.

His smile was as wide as Dan’s.

On TV, the first married gay couple in England kissed.

In Dan’s ear, Phil whispered: “I’m going to marry you one day.”


End file.
